


Perhaps

by AlexMac



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asia Family, Black Christmas, Gen, Siblings, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:06:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexMac/pseuds/AlexMac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas, 1941. The United Kingdom surrendered Hong Kong to Japan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perhaps

17 days was all it took. England, India, and Canada, weak from fighting on the Western front, didn't have the strength to protect him any longer. That’s okay, he told himself. It’s not their fault. Even still, he was a little angry, at them and himself, for not being able to hold out at least through the end of Christmas. He took a deep breath and sipped his tea.

Hong Kong wasn’t an idiot. He knew his presence had likely been missed at the surrender. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to go, however. He didn't want to see Japan as the cold, twisted man this war was making him. A man without remorse, mercy, emotion. Japan would be illuminated by candlelight when he came, and perhaps that would restore the warmth, the humanity to his face. If not, hopefully anger would. Hong Kong knew it wasn't nice, but invading armies don't qualify for niceness, even if they came in the form of the boy who once tucked you into bed and told you stories when China was away. And besides, he knew if he was nice, he wouldn't see his brother. Maybe if he was as mean as he could possibly be, he could make him angry, and maybe he could crack the theater mask Japan called his face. He took another sip of tea.

Hong Kong felt the door open. He remembered what had happened when England did this to France, and did not look up, instead pretending he had not noticed anything. Being ignored, he remembered, was the one thing everyone hated. It was one of the few things on which he knew China and England agreed, so it must be an absolute truth.

“You weren't at the meeting,” said a voice like a stone, in Japanese. Stone-like, he thought, because it was cold, unfeeling, and seemingly unpersuadable. A tone which brokered no argument. Hong Kong looked up slowly, trying desperately to keep his face neutral. Polished black shoes, a crisp white uniform, up to a face with blank brown eyes and an inscrutable expression. No, the candles were not doing their part. Hong Kong felt a flash of true fear right then, the fear that the man before him could cut him down in a single blow and suffer no regret. He fought it back, however, pausing to remind himself of his object. He made eye contact, knowing that it was a backhanded way of showing respect. Acting like a Westerner was a sure way to get on Japan’s nerves, had been for centuries.

Finally, after seconds that seemed to him like hours, he replied. “Hello brother,” he said quietly, in English, “how nice of you to visit. The fanfare was rather unnecessary; it destroyed your Christmas gift.” He then directed his gaze, slowly and deliberately, to the singed painting that he had placed in easy view of the door. He waited in silence, hoping Japan’s eyes would follow his, that Japan would react. He looked back to Japan. The silence continued, as Japan stared at the painting and Hong Kong stared at Japan, each with a perfectly neutral expression on his face. Hong Kong felt a maelstrom of emotions whirling in his chest, but told himself, quite sternly, in English and Cantonese, _be calm._ It became a bilingual mantra, as he waited for Japan to look back to him. When he did, phase two would start, and he could not lose nerve. This was not the brotherly teasing he so wished it was. This was war. And the object was to see his brother somewhere in this familiar stranger, even if that made his brother hate him.

Japan spoke before Hong Kong collected himself. “You are now an Imperial Japanese Occupied Territory. Do you understand what this means?” This shook Hong Kong. He took a deep, level breath and quirked his eyebrow as he had seen China do when speaking with Mongolia, hoping he looked as though he thought Japan’s statement ridiculous.

“Nope, not speaking Japanese right now. I hear there’s an army of them at my doorstep, and I don't want them getting the wrong idea. I remember what happened to Sister Ainu, don’t you?” Japan had gone, perhaps, a shade paler. Or perhaps a candle had flickered. Hong Kong chose to believe the former, and it encouraged him to continue. “So, Japanese is out. Come on, we both speak English, Dutch, Chinese, even Greek. You know, Greek is probably best.” He noted that Japan had, in fact, gone slightly pale, and his eyes had widened almost indiscernibly. It was all he could do not to sigh in relief as he moved into the last leg of his attack. He wasn't sure why Greece elicited such a response from him, but Greece had seemed in instant-win card in sillier arguments for nearly 40 years, and he was going to play with all the cards in his deck, as Macau often advised him to.

He switched to Greek. “At least in Greek, the only other person who would wish to converse with us in Europe, is he not? I believe I have a letter from him in here somewhere. I had requested research material for my university. Would you like to read it?” Okay, his Greek was stilted and formal. But so was Japan, so there. It was good enough too, because he saw Japan’s hands begin to shake before he clenched them into fists. “I know you are the quietest brother, but this quickly becomes ridiculous. Will you wish me a pleasant Christmas or not?” Both their facades broke then, just a little. Tears began to well in Hong Kong’s eyes, and Japan’s jaw tightened. Hong Kong now knew his brother was in there, and that he was mad at him. He looked just like he did when Hong Kong had let the cat into his chrysanthemums when he was last visiting. Almost as soon as he spotted it, however, it was gone, and the mask was worn once again. Hong Kong knew now, though, that his brother was in there, his dear brother who traded with him and told him bedtime stories and had tickle-fights and loved meditation and philosophy and teaching. For that, he thought he could bear any punishment. 

Abruptly, Japan spoke again, and Hong Kong did not interrupt, or look away. “You will report to Imperial Military Regional headquarters at 0400 hours tomorrow morning. You will be informed of your new role, and face the punishment for insubordination and for ridicule of an officer of the Imperial Army. You will speak Japanese and will be issued an Imperial Japanese Army uniform. You are now a Japanese Imperial Territory, Hong Kong Island and Kowloon Peninsula.” With that, Japan about-turned and began to open the door. 

Softly, so softly it may have been the wind, in the Cantonese dialect of Chinese that he was sure Japan had forgotten, Hong Kong’s deepest wish for that day passed his lips. “Kiku, please come back for Christmas.” Japan’s hand stopped on the handle, and he turned again to his brother and saw him as if for the first time. A young boy who should be sitting in a 6th grade classroom, instead biting back tears as he watches his family forced to abandon him, even the man who comes to claim him doing nothing but hurting him, feeling the gut-wrenching loneliness he knew all too well. He fights an internal battle, then, but it is over in less than a heartbeat. It is Kiku’s first victory over Imperial Japan, one that he told himself would not be repeated. “Perhaps,” Honda Kiku replied, quiet as breath, in Cantonese.


	2. Omake: Cat Amongst Chrysanthemums

Hong Kong watched the clock strike midnight, ending Christmas for 1941. He hadn’t really expected Kiku to come, but it still hurt that he hadn't. It was, so far, the worst Christmas ever. The atrocities being committed by Japanese soldiers against his people, even after the surrender earlier that afternoon, were almost too much for him to bear. Before he left, England had assured him that the pain would dull, that he would become used to it. He hadn’t made any pretense, just tried in his own way to prepare him for the horror he knew was coming. Even so, he _hurt._ He had not left his quarters since the 22nd, He had no intention of reporting in the morning as Japan had ordered him to, because when the Imperial Military saw a 12-year-old boy before them they would laugh him out of headquarters. Occupation was bad enough without being disregarded. He was certainly not crying, of course. Not from the pain or the threat of tomorrow or the sharp disappointment in Kiku that he told himself he did not feel. The pricks of liquid heat at his eyes weren't tears. He was not a child and he did not cry.

There was a short, threefold rap at his door. He was glad then that he was wearing his Western clothes, early gifts from Canada and England before they left. Wales had knitted him a cap, as well, and he placed it over his head to hide his hair. He had been pulling at it, and whatever government official had decided he was important did not need to know that. Hong Kong opened his door to see a man, head bent forward to obscure his face, in a postman’s uniform. “Delivery for Wang Lì,” said the man, in a voice deliberately deepened, over enunciating the first word, which was difficult for him. The man handed him a piece of paper, upside-down. Cautiously, Hong Kong took it, and looked for a moment at the blank side. He then stepped forward and hugged him with all the strength his small body could produce. “I knew you’d come, Kiku.”

His hug was returned with a quick squeeze and quicker retreat, and as he watched his brother return down the steps in the dead of night, he broke into a wide, childish grin. As he returned inside, he lit a lamp and took a good look at the paper his brother had given him. It was a drawing of a small cat, or perhaps a lion cub, playing in a garden of chrysanthemums. _For Leon_ was written in small, tight script in the bottom corner in English, followed by Greek -- _be careful_. Warning set aside, all that filled his dreams that night was the cat amongst chrysanthemums.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit less certain on this one, so I shortened it a bit and made it an omake, rather than a true chapter. 
> 
> The cat in chrysanthemums picture has a rather significant triple meaning. The first, and the one Hong Kong chooses to see, is simply a sweet gift from his brother, who he has little hope of seeing in such a good light for quite some time. The second is that Japan is angry -- he chose to illustrate a scene that illuminates the last time Hong Kong had angered him, after all. The last, and what I think Japan was truly aiming for, was a sneaky warning for Hong Kong not to trust him. Chrysanthemums are poisonous to cats. Kiku is Japanese for 'chrysanthemum', and Leon means 'lion.'

**Author's Note:**

> Historical notes: Hong Kong was the first British Crown Colony ever surrendered. The surrender took place after 17 days of fighting from primarily English, Canadian, Indian troops and Hong Kong volunteers. Like all conquered territories, the Japanese were absolutely brutal in both conquering and holding the territory. The surrender took place early afternoon Christmas Day, in a hotel in Hong Kong.


End file.
